


April Snowstorm

by Anglephile



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Wendigo, but no actual cannibalism, mentions of cannibalism, reader is not what they seem, sheepdogs made of nightmares, snowstorm, they're just big puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglephile/pseuds/Anglephile
Summary: When out in the woods researching Wendigos, Ford gets caught in a snowstorm and chased by a pack of demonic hounds. Luckily, your cabin is nearby, and you're happy to help him warm up. At least, until the Wendigo catches up with him.





	1. Running from the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some fluff, but it grew into this dark beast instead. I don't know what happened.
> 
> Demon dogs are based off of the "others" from the graphic novel series "Girl from the Other Side."  
> Wendigos are Native American mythological creatures that are cannibalistic in nature and prefer colder climates. There is no cannibalism here! Don't panic!  
> The reader's mythology will be explained towards the end. But if you're super impatient...vkh'v d fkhqrr.

The snow sucked at his boots threatening to trip him, hold him fast, bury him in thick layers of sticky ice. His breath came out his harsh puffs. His heart beat loud in his ears as he ran through the woods. Well, ran was a strong word. It was more a parody of running, the way you run in a nightmare where everything is too slow and too fast at the same time. Sweat trickled down the side of his temple and soaked into his turtleneck, already dangerously wet. If the creatures surrounding him didn't kill him, hypothermia would.

A goat skull floated into view on his right, matching his pace in an easy lumber. Blue fire burned through the eye sockets above a body that could have been a six legged dog, or a mass of curling shadows melting into the trees. He had intended to hunt down the elusive Wendigo that recent rumors had placed in this part of the woods, and had accidentally ran into a pack of what his best guess was some sort of Grim, or Old Shuck creatures. Black dogs that traveled between dimensions. Hellhounds. He paused to study them instead, and lost track of time. The storm had swept in from the mountains quicker than he expected, blanketing the woods in sheets of jagged hail. Upon retreating, he foolishly backed into the hard skull of a creature that had crept up behind him while he was sketching. One hot exhale on his back sent chills down his spine, and he took off running.

He stumbled, and fell; hands and knees sinking into the deep snow. A gasp wrenched from his throat as something sharp scraped his palm. He curled his hand around the object, a stick, and darted a glance behind him. Three sets of burning blue eyes and melting shadow bodies formed an incomplete circle around him. They lunged, snapped at his feet. Testing. He whipped the stick at the closest one, and scrambled to his feet, not waiting to see where it landed. He bolted through the opening in the circle which seemed to lead to a lighter part of the forest. A clearing.

He limped out of the trees, huffing deep breaths. Even with the extra fuel of adrenaline spurring him on, he wouldn't make it much longer. They would wear him out and take him down. He had no doubt. A burst of ice pellets slaps his side as he steps into the clearing. All he sees is swirling white, and even that is blurry through his icy glasses. Panic, sharp and sudden at his loss of vision, claws at the spot between his shoulders and he misses his footing. He yells, stopped short by the ground knocking the air from his chest. He squints through the ice as he curls in on himself trying to breathe, casting around desperately to find those burning eyes. Damn it, where are they? What could he do? How could he defend himself? Snow, melting from what's left of his body heat, seaps into his the knees of his pants, his gloves. Was he still wearing gloves? He couldn't tell. Couldn't feel much of anything besides gut wrenching dread. Two sets of glowing embers in wind bleached skulls approached at their leisure, footprints of curling shadows searing into pure snow. He heart rate picked up dramatically as he realized the severity of his situation. His eyes widened. He was done for.

\---

This weather is bullshit. The half snow, half sleet cascades down the roof and smacks the window like a vindictive lover. It is somehow dark and light at the same time; an edgy grey that glows with unpredictable flashes of lightning. Your bored eyes twitch with anger as you send a withering glare into the April snowstorm. This weather is bullshit. You turn away in disgust, ready to make a cup of hot chocolate with extra Amaretto and so much freaking whip cream, you don't even know. Just as your hand touches the cabinet, a frenzy of scratches bombards your front door.

"Okay! Alright. Geez." You shuffle over in your sock feet.

You turn the handle, and the door is nearly ripped from your grasp by the storm. Hand shielding your eyes, you peer into the wintry mess. A skull with blue embers for eyes waits on your porch, shadow body standing at the ready. Using the door to block the wind, you reach down slightly to ruffle the scruff of his neck. Even if they were made of nightmares, they were just big puppies to you.

"Hey, Snugglebug! What's up, buddy? Want to come in?"

You step aside, welcoming him. He wags his tails, all three moving in sequence and quite disorienting if you paid too much attention to them, but turns away. He looks at you expectantly. 

"Seriously?"

He dances a quick circle, and takes one step off the porch, looking back.

"Alright." You give in. Must be important. "Let me get my boots."

Bundled up like a Russian soldier, complete with fur hat, you venture from your nice, warm cabin with a huff and gesture for the dog to lead the way. Tramping through the pines in a freak blizzard was not how you envisioned your evening. You hustle to keep up, cursing under your breath. With the heavy layers, the worst problem you have is trying to breathe through the extra wide scarf wrapped around your face. Squinting against the waves of sleet you can make out the rest of Snugglebug's pack circling a large, dark...something.

The six legged shadow dog hangs back, and lets you overtake him. Trudging forward as fast as you dare, you reach what turns out to be a man in a soaked trench coat, completely inappropriate for the weather. The man tries to rise, and pitches forward into the snow. He startles when you catch his arm. Eyes darting wildly, he drags himself to his feet, and tries to pull you behind him.

"I'll...l'll protect you...don't worry..." He pants, outstretched hands trembling.

There's something funny about his hands. You shake your head. Later. Ignoring his chivalry, you grab his arm and wrap it around your shoulders. He's big up close. Tall, broad, and solid. You hope you've got the stamina for this. 

"Wh-what are you--?" he stutters, cutting off when your hand grips his waist.

"Just lean on me, will you?...And at least try to walk."

You urge him forward, and he stumbles along drunkenly. You silently grit your teeth as he slumps against you harder than expected. He must be more tired than either of you realized. Hoo, boy. It's just like those dogs to make you help some stranger. Bunch of bleeding hearts. Just out of sight of the stranger, Snugglebug leads the way back, tails wagging leisurely. You follow his glowing skull petulantly.

"No!...the creatures! They'll--Ah!" He winces when you grab the hand around your shoulder for leverage. Have to look into that later.

"Don't worry about them. Worry about you, idiot."

He shudders violently against your side, the cold and wet getting to him. You mutter encouragements as much to yourself as him, and practically carry him through the snow. The steps were another challenge, but despite some slipping, and one hairy moment when you thought you were both going over, you make it inside. Slumping with relief, you let the heat wash over you. He perks up a little, managing to stand on his own now that the wind isn't beating him into submission. You pull the scarf away from your mouth, and let it hang for the time being. More urgent matters. You toe off your boots, tripping over one almost immediately, and start rummaging through drawers, muttering and glancing up at the man every so often. He's trying to get his glasses defrosted, wary to move from where you left him until he can see clearly.

"Here. Let me." Taking the glasses from his hands, you swap them for the clothes in yours. He frowns in your general direction, befuddled. He opens his mouth to comment, then stumbles over his words when the glasses are placed back on his face. Not a bad looking face, now that you bother to look. Older, mature, but that is one strong jawline. Is that a blush, or the cold that makes his cheeks pink?

"Th-thank you."

Ooo, that is...ahem. That is one deep voice. You hadn't noticed that before. No, focus. Grabbing his shoulders you shove him in the direction of the bathroom.

"Go change. Those are the only clothes I have that'll, um, fit your frame."

"I'm fine, really. But about those creatures--"

"So, you always shiver that much?"

He shuts up, embarrassed, but still doesn't move. His curiosity is stronger than his self preservation, apparently. You turn your back to him, and start fighting your way out of your scarf.

"Go change." You hang up your Russian hat with a sigh. "Tell you what, I'll trade you. You put on dry clothes, and in return I'll tell you why those "creatures" didn't rip you to pieces...Unless you'd rather change out here?"

You turn slightly, making eye contact over your shoulder, and slowly slide your coat off. It's a bit of a dick move, but effective. Red up to his ears, he trips over himself in a rush to get to the bathroom, stuttering apologies the whole way. He wasn't making it easy to keep him from getting hypothermia. Hanging your coat on the wall, you decide to make you both that hot chocolate you wanted earlier.


	2. Hot Chocolate and Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You attempt to warm up the frozen scientist, and he has a proposition for you.

When he comes out, you are just adding the finishing touches: a dollop of whip cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. You've never met a man who wasn't comforted by the smell of cinnamon. Turning triumphantly holding two mugs, your words stick in your throat. He looks good. Like, too good considering the circumstances. Flannel pajama bottoms, long sleeve black t-shirt that fits just a little too snug, and fluffy grey hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed. He rubs one of your towels through his hair, fluffing it even more, and catches you staring.

"I, uh, hope you don't mind. You were quite right about the need for dry clothes. I apologize for earlier." He clears his throat, holding his hands behind him stiffly.

"I-it's fine." You stutter, regaining your power of speech. "Come sit with me. We still need to get you warmed up."

"Yes, of course."

He neatly folds the towel, and ducks back inside the bathroom to set it on the sink. When he comes out, you are sitting on the couch, more of a love seat really, and fussing with a blanket. You smile invitingly and hold up a corner of the blanket. He freezes. His eyes dart between you and the open spot on the couch, panic written plainly in his features.

"Uh, you know, body heat, right?" You can't quite meet his gaze. He's not the only one uncomfortable, here. "Look, I would really rather warm you up myself, than try to treat hypothermia. I'm no doctor. It wouldn't go well."

"I, uh, I don't suppose it would. Go well, that is."

He approaches cautiously, as if afraid you would change your mind and laugh in his face, but musters his courage and sits primly on the far end of the couch. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you toss the blanket over him, and reach for the drinks on the coffee table. Using the hot chocolate as an excuse to get closer to him, body heat doesn't work if you're not touching, you scootch over to hand him one. He jumps when your thigh touches his, and fumbles with the mug for a tense moment. There's a beat of awkward silence as he warms his hands and stares pointedly into the whip cream. A light dusting of pink blooms across his cheeks. Adjusting the blanket so you're more comfortable, you lean into his side. His breath hitches.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes!" His voice is an octave higher than a moment ago. He tries again. "Yes. I'm afraid I just don't have much experience...in this, uh, field."

"Well, what field are you more familiar with?"

"The paranormal, anomalies, physics, among others. I was out trying to study a species of paranormal creature that is uncommon to this area, when I ran across those...uh, skull beasts."

He had a marvelous voice, like a college professor, so sure of himself and enthusiastic. He paused to take a sip, smiling quietly to himself. His shoulders melted just a fraction of an inch, and you counted it as a victory.

"You had implied some knowledge of those creatures earlier...?" he trailed off, looking to you hopefully. "I did complete my half of our bargain."

"That's true. You should be rewarded for acting like a grown up." You laughed good-naturedly. "Alright. Well, they weren't attacking you, for one. They were trying to herd you; think sheepdogs made of nightmares. You see, they're smart enough to know that humans belong inside when it storms."

He brings his hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully, oblivious to your little jab. Your brow furrows. Was that the normal amount of fingers, or did he have one extra? He fidgets, and hides his hand under the blanket when he notices the focus of your attention. He clears his throat, and continues with his inquiry.

"But, why would they want to help me? What purpose would that serve?"

You shrug, setting down your finished cup on the table. "I've been bribing them for weeks to keep strangers away, but I guess they didn't think you were a threat. Probably wanted me to save their new friend."

You shift in your seat, and decide to go for it.

"Can I just...?"

He nods consent when you trail off, assuming you just mean to adjust position again. And you do. You grab his free hand, and duck under his arm, letting his hand rest on your waist. He stiffens when you wrap your arms around him, heartbeat increasing dramatically. You can practically hear the alarm bells in his head. Oh, dear, she's touching me. What am supposed to do? What do people do in this situation? Should I hold her back? What if I do it wrong?

"Geez, you're cold. It's like hugging an ice block."

"S-Sorry, I, uh--"

He tries to move, and you swing your legs up to rest on his lap.

"S'fine. That's the point, remember? You can hold me tighter if you want, feels like you need it" The hand at your waist tentatively curls around your midsection, and you snuggle in closer. He turns away, face getting redder by the second. "What were you looking for out there, anyway?"

"Oh, I had heard some local gossip that a Wendigo had taken up residence in this part of the woods, and I wanted to study it for my research." He takes a swig of the hot chocolate, and you feel a quiet hum of appreciation in his chest. Settling back into the couch, he's starting to thaw, but neither of you are ready to move. "Have you noticed any anomalies in the area? Anything unusual?"

"Only when I look in the mirror!" You joke, your nervous chuckling dying down at the calculating expression on his face. You suck in a breath between your teeth. "...Maybe I have, but I don't think we bargained for that information." 

He was cute, really cute, but you weren't sure you should tell him. The dogs were deathless, and feared nothing. You didn't have that luxury. If he wanted to know about you, he would have to work for it. There was a reason you hid yourself in this cabin, after all. You slide your hand up his chest, and play with his collar, trying to distract him. It didn't take much, did it? He was solidly built with just the right amount of pudge. His heart beat fluttered under your palm. You tugged his collar down a little, and spied the beginning of what was no doubt a delightfully hairy chest. Iron grey like his fluffy mop, and charming sideburns. His adams apple bobbed. You watched a blush creep up his neck and--

"Is that a tattoo?" you blurt, startling him.

"Um, I--that is--"

"Can I see it?"

He looks around nervously for a way out, and, not seeing one, meets your eyes while trying to hide a flash of fear. Stan had warned him about this; what would happen if a girl saw his tattoo. He slips a finger under his collar and tugs, as if he's suddenly too hot.

"I-I have a proposition for you." You arch a brow, and he looks mortified for a second. "Not that! Not like that! I just...I meant that I'll allow you to examine my tattoo, if you'll tell me what you know about any anomalies in the area."

He was nothing if not determined. You hold his gaze steady, considering the man in front of you, if he really wants this, if he can handle this. He doesn't flinch. He meets your eyes, matching your intensity. The eyes of a man who seeks out real truth, has seen the crawling chaos between worlds, and keeps coming back for more. You smirk, and are the first to break eye contact.

"Alright. You first."


	3. The Wendigo Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wendigo comes a calling and you show your true colors.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. He sets his empty mug down on the table, and turns slightly away. His fingers tremble as he bares his neck, and pulls down his collar to expose the cutest tattoo you had ever seen. A giggle escapes your throat as you get a close up look at a happy little star that could have been designed by a twelve year old girl. He cringes, shrinking before your eyes. He desperately wants to cover up, but he forces himself to remain still. He agreed to let you look, and he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his chances of obtaining valuable information for his research. 

"That tattoo is among my most serious regrets."

"Okay, yeah, that was worth it!" Your laughter subsides, and he hurriedly let's go of his collar. "So, the gossip you heard was only half right. The Wendigo was hanging around in the forest just outside, but it doesn't live here. It was running away."

"You've seen it! Can you describe it? Let me get my notebook. Wait, running away? Wendigos are reportedly fearsome beasts, cannibalistic in nature, and exceedingly large. What could it have been running from?"

He is in full professor mode, absorbing everything you had to say and turning it over in his mind, examining it from every angle. You run a hand through your hair, your eyes wandering around the room as you try to avoid telling him the truth. There's no way out. Sighing in resignation, you withdraw your hands from around his torso. He wouldn't want to touch you after this.

"It was--"

You never get to finish. A wild howling echoes through the cabin, reality wavers for a second in a sheen of oily color, and you shake your head to clear it. The nightmare dogs. What could they--? Oh, shit. 

The door bursts open with a gust of wet dog and rotting meat. Snow peppers the floor, whipping around a slender, but hulking figure looming in the doorway. The Wendigo must've followed his scent. He's on his feet before you can blink, standing between you and the Wendigo. The thing screams like grating glass before breaking into a whip fast lumber straight for him. He tries to block it's attack, but a heavy arm knocks him across the room with pathetic ease. He grunts as he hits the floor hard, glasses skidding off into the distance. 

"Run! You have to run! I'll distract it, please run!" his deep baritone filling the small room with desperation.

Another glass shard scream shakes the windows. His eyes flash open, and he squints in the direction of the beast, trying to make out one dark blur from another. It must be coming for him. Heavy footsteps pound in his direction. Fighting the urge to curl in on himself and cover his vital organs, he holds his hands tentatively out in front of him. When it reaches him, he'll pull it close, and bash it with his head. Let the thing chew on his metal plated skull for a while. He knows he has no chance, he just hopes he can slow it down long enough for you to get away. You can still escape while the Wendigo tears him apart. 

A dark growl rumbles over the floorboards to his right, so low pitched he feels it more than hears it. Something sinks in his chest. Was that another one? No, it sounded...angrier. A smaller blur collides hard with the beast. They careen into the kitchen counter with a sickening thwack. He's trying to listen, to figure out what's happening, but he can't hear over his own pounding heartbeat. A scrambling clatter, a pained grunt followed by two sharp cracks. A sticky, hollow sound like a cantaloupe being ripped open. Stillness. 

He flails his arms around the floor, groping frantically for his lost glasses, but comes up empty. Cold fear shoots down his spine. He can't fight what he can't see. An indistinct shape raises to it's full height, scoffs in distaste, and limps towards him. The blur pauses, scrapes the floor, and continues along it's lurching path. 

Cursing under his breath, he scrambles backwards until his back hits the couch. The dark mass looms over him, panting hard, and matching his own labored breathing. Dread washes over him when it stops, debating it's next move. His fingers tremble, and he clenches them into fists. He's not sure what he's going to hit, if he'll even make contact before--No. Don't think about that. If he's going down, he's going down fighting. The blur crouches to his level, a shadowy arm reaches out. He swings, twisting his shoulders, and putting everything he can into the punch.

It doesn't hit.

The creature deflects his fist, and latches onto his arm. He snarls, and tries to pull back. There's a hand on his chest, holding him down. 

"Woah, woah, easy! It's me! It's just me."

"How did--?" He chokes out, pausing when his glasses are placed on his nose. "Thank you, but where is--Oh dear, you're bleeding! Here, let me help you!"

You pull away, trying to hide your injured leg, but he is having none of it. He climbs to his knees, and scoops you up. Startled, you grasp at his shirt as he rises. Stronger than he looks. He stutters when he sees the gore smearing the kitchen, but recovers quickly. Priorities. The threat had been neutralized, that much was clear, and now he needed to get you cleaned up. 

He sets you on the couch, and kneels down to examine your leg. It doesn't appear broken, at least. A set of vicious claw marks curl around your thigh to your kneecap. There's blood everywhere, but around your wound it seems to be thicker and darker than it should be. Almost black even. Was it already coagulating? He gently prods your knee, checking to see if it's sprained, and hears that low growl again. He jerks away, eyes flashing to your face. 

"Sorry." You clear you throat. "I twisted it when I...um...You know what, I'm fine."

You trail off, and move to get up. You just need to clean off all this blood. It's all sticky, and your kitchen's a mess now. He places a hand on your thigh keeping you in place. You give him a sharp look, stifling another growl. 

"So, you always limp like that?" He smiles shyly, throwing your earlier words back at you. Softly, so he doesn't scare you off, he asks, "What were you going to tell me? Before the...distraction?"

You stare down at where his broad hand lays just above your knee. The warmth of his gentle grip seeps through your jeans. You openly marvel at the strength in his hand, carefully controlled so as not to harm you, but firm enough to let you know he's there. The width more than average to accommodate his extra finger, marking him as more than average. This time, he doesn't try to hide it.

"...me. It was running from me." Your eyes flick up to his for a second before falling down to your lap. He's going to run. You know it. "I'm a Chenoo. Well, half Chenoo on my mother's side."

He echoes the word. He doesn't seem familiar with the term, so you elaborate. He might as well know how deep in the shit he is.

"W-we, um, we have souls born of pure evil and hearts of solid ice. We have an endless capacity for bloodshed, and are known for preying on the unwary...and, uh, eating them..."

You play with your hands, waiting for his reaction. Warm fingers wrap around your wrist gently. "No pulse..." He mutters under his breath, but doesn't withdraw his hand. You allow the arm he's holding to drop in temperature, further and further. His hand flinches away, sticking slightly with the frost. You force yourself to meet his gaze and find his eyes wide with wonder, not horror like you were expecting.

"That..." He swallows thickly, digesting the new information. "That can't be accurate."

You frown, pretty sure you made it clear. You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

"No, if that were true, I wouldn't be here." He shakes his head. "You befriended those nightmare dogs, you dragged me through the storm, you saved me...twice."

"No. I killed a Wendigo. There's a difference." Your voice is as cold as your heart. "What makes you think I won't kill you?"

"...twice." He whispers, looking you dead in the eye.

Your jaw clicks shut, and you lean back on the couch. You sulk for a moment. He called your bluff. Boldly, he turns his back on you, and gets some wet paper towels from the kitchen, careful to avoid the Wendigo viscera. You raise an eyebrow. He has a strong stomach. Returning to his previous position, he calmly proceeds to clean off the blood from your wound as best he can. He glances up to find you watching him curiously, and he flushes red. You look him up and down, and offer a weak smile.

"Where do we go from here?"

"Well, uh...the storm doesn't seem to be lessening in intensity. I might be stuck here for a while." A six fingered hand comes up to rub at the back of his head, and he daringly meets your gaze. "So, could I--would you allow me to...examine you? For my research?"

You smirk. He sure was determined.

"What's in it for me?"


End file.
